


one is silver, and the other gold

by betony



Category: Fire and Hemlock - Diana Wynne Jones
Genre: Epistolary, Implied Relationships, Multi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-11
Updated: 2019-12-11
Packaged: 2021-02-26 07:47:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,598
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21760048
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/betony/pseuds/betony
Summary: Polly to Tom:I’ve been thinking about Hero and Tan Coul’s next adventure. Knights are always haring off to rescue fair damsels, and so shouldn’t Hero and Tan Coul?
Comments: 5
Kudos: 30
Collections: Yuletide 2019





	one is silver, and the other gold

**Author's Note:**

  * For [DesireeArmfeldt](https://archiveofourown.org/users/DesireeArmfeldt/gifts).



> Canon-typical typos and an arguable mild divergence from canon ahead. Happy Yuletide, and I hope you enjoy this!

**allegro** **_._ **

_ Polly to Tom _ :

`I’ve been thinking about Hero and Tan Coul’s next adventure. In the book you sent me about King Arthur, the knights are always haring off to rescue fair damsels, and so shouldn’t Hero and Tan Coul? She must be `` excessively beautiful, like the book says, and her name can be Fiona. There’s a girl in my school called Fiona, but I doubt she’ll mind us borrowing it. Do write bakc soon and tell me what you think... `

_ Tom to Polly: _

`...if Hero elects to save a damsel in distress, I hardly think Tan Coul can disagree. I am very curious to know more about our mysterious Dame Fiona, other than her excessive beauty (and I will be very dull just this once and point out that beauty is in the eye of the beholder, so even that doesn’t tell me much.) Will she be sweet on Hero? Or does Tan Coul hold her affections?`

_ Polly to Tom: _

`Oh, Dame Fiona is not `` at all the sort of lady Tan Coul likes. He’s far too  ~~ scared ~~ squashed after having had to live with Edna, and Dame Fiona is very strong-minded. And anyways she’s already in love with Sir. Hans. He is a woodchopper with a heart of gold, and it causes her no end of sadness because he doesn’t think he’s good enough that her family will let them be married. So Hero and Tan Coul must rescue Dame Fiona from a giant and convince Sir Hans to marry her after all...`

_ Tom to Polly: _

`...They do rather take on a lot, don’t they? Very well then. Dame Fiona is lost in love for her Sir Hans, and hopelessly grateful to Hero for freeing her. I do particularly like your description of the giant as having “`` ~~ fett ~~ feet -- sorry! -- like rubbish bin lids”; do you think it possible that he might be entirely made up of rubbish himself...?`

**adagio.**

At the risk of seeming a faithless friend, Fiona is always guiltily grateful for evening like these, evenings where Polly is already out with Seb when Fiona comes round, and she can spend time curled up in a chair opposite Granny. The fire crackles just right, and Granny’s biscuits sharp on her tongue, and Fiona feels entirely at ease. Tonight, though, she mustn’t indulge; tonight she comes on a mission. 

First Granny makes sure Fiona is filled up with tea, and then she settles herself down with Mintchoc draped across her lap, looking like nothing so much as a decadent queen sprawled upon her throne. Fiona must take a bracing sip of tea before she can face Granny’s formidable eyebrow. 

“Have you noticed,” she begins, and looks down again before starting fresh. “Polly seems quite changed now, doesn’t she?”

Granny grunts and goes back to stroking Mintchoc. “All girls do. It comes with time.”

That is entirely too much. Fiona sets down her cup indignantly. “Not this  _ again _ ,” she says. “And that’s not what I mean.” Not entirely, that is. This is just like when, seemingly in the space between one day and the next, Polly Whittacker went from being yet another girl in class to endlessly, effortlessly fascinating. Mum had said it was simply another part of what she called  _ blossoming _ , but Fiona knew, even then, that it was something more. That swoop in her stomach, that lurch of dreadful inevitability --the only other time she has ever known anything similar is the instant she first laid eyes on Hans. She is suddenly, achingly bone-tired of being told she is making a great deal of fuss over nothing. 

Granny sees Fiona’s irritation in her face, and sighs. Gingerly she lets Mintchoc down, and beckons Fiona closer until Fiona is standing close enough that Granny can clutch her hand. For a heartbeat, she seems terribly old, and very sad. 

“All we girls feel this way,” she says, very gently, and something deep within Fiona trembles. “It comes with time.” She releases Fiona, whose arm still aches from Granny’s grip. “Now go on with you. See if you can’t find something to watch at the cinema; tonight is not a night to be alone.”

“I will.” Fiona leans forward and, daring greatly, pecks Granny on a papery cheek. “I promise.”

They do not speak of that night again. They never need to. 

**minuet and trio.**

_ Polly to Tom _

`Thanks awfully for the tickets. Granny was slightly disappointed when I told her I couldn’t come home for Easter hols, but even she couldn’t pretend attending a performance by the best string quarter living isn’t a far more glamorous use of my time. Besides, Fiona was a brick and elected to visit her for a few days in my place; some days I don’t know what I would do without her. `

`I have a surprise for you too. It may not compare to an invitation to Vienna, but--if you can contrive to drive up to Oxford next weekend, I can at least promise you a picnic by the river, and the chance to meet Fiona at last! No dearer delight have I in this world, or any other. I do hope you can come. `

_ Polly to Fiona _

`...Now there’s no use declining, because I’ve already told Tom you’ll be there. You remember Tom, of course: it’s not at all fair that you’ve met him, in a manner of speaking, and he hasn’t you. He can’t stop by for long, but he’d be happy to see you there, and so would I.`

_ Fiona to Polly _

`No need to persuade me. I’ll come, if only to turn my beady maiden-aunt eye on this Thomas Lynn and make sure he’s up to scratch. You needn’t worry though; his only competition’s been Seb, and surely `` that must be easy enough to achieve!`

` ~~ Whatever happened to Seb, for that matter? ~~`

`Tell your Tom I’ll be pleased to make his acquaintance, that first weekend back from hols. We can provide the nourishment, if he’ll bring a beverage or two. What’s more, I’ll even promise to be on my very best behavior.`

`With love, Your Fi. `

**rondo.**

Truth be told, Tom isn’t sure what he expects to find, but Fiona Perks proves to be nothing more than a red-haired girl with an assessing stare. She doesn’t say much above five words to him, even when they’re introduced and shake hands. If it were her he drove all the way to Oxford to impress, he can see he might be disappointed, but it had all been for Polly, always Polly. So instead he is quite glad for Fiona’s silence, which means he can sit beside Polly in the shade of an oak tree and pretend they are in Nowhere. 

It isn’t until Polly has been sent to purchase ices for the three of them that Fiona’s attention falls upon him at last. By now Tom is of course utterly unprepared for it. He fumbles under her glower and brandishes his barely-touched lunch for want of something to do. “Thank you for making these sandwiches,” he offers desperately. “They’re really quite--quite unusual.”

To his surprise, Fiona smiles, so that her face softens into prettiness. “Oh good,” she says. “I was hoping you’d notice. Polly isn’t meant to love a man who could be content with corned beef.” She pats him on the arm, almost pityingly. “Full marks for trying to be polite about it, though.”

Tom stares at her, appalled, and finds himself laughing helplessly. Fiona laughs, too, so long and hard that by the end of it, they find themselves liking the other far more than they did before. It helps, Tom supposes, that they have Polly and their love for her in common. 

“I’ve been meaning to say I’m sorry,” Tom says, when he has breath enough to talk, “that you were caught up in this business, too. You’d no reason to be.”

“Was I?” Fiona frowns. “Polly tried explaining, before, but I couldn’t make much sense of it. What’s more, I hardly think I’m the sort of girl people waste--enchantments and the sort on.”  _ Not like you _ , remains unsaid between them.  _ Not like Polly _ . 

“You were,” Tom says. “Not much of one--a bit of malice small enough that Laurel would not have noticed,” his lip curls, as it always does when he thinks of her. He expects it always will. “But enough that you would notice. And I’m sorry for that.”

“I’m not.” Fiona is studying her hands and not looking at him, but her voice is firm. “I’ve had plenty of time to think about it, you know, and otherwise it seems to me I might never have met Polly. So I’m not sorry for it, and never will be.”

She holds his gaze, challenging, and Tom does not look away. In the end she offers a truce by way of another smile, and Tom accepts. Just then Polly comes racing back to them, the ices dripping down her hands; Tom would not have put it past her to wait and watch from afar until she could see they were getting along. 

He can’t blame her. “Next time,” he says, taking his ice from Polly and smiling his thanks, “the quartet is playing, I thought I might send two tickets rather than one. It must be lonely, sitting in that audience alone. If you’d like, that is.”

Fiona nods, but it’s Polly who darts close to kiss his cheek. “Oh yes,” she whispers, going pink with pleasure. “I would.”

No greater delight has he in this world, or any other. 


End file.
